Kick Start
by AAnitab
Summary: This is set some time in the not too distant future. But some things change for both Joan and Sherlock between then and now. If you asked them, they would say that the changes have been all for the better. Unless you ask Joan before she's had her morning caffeine. Romantic committed fluffiness and probably smut. NEW CHAPTER! Now the right chapter thanks to ANVera1 for the heads ups
1. Chapter 1

Title: Kick Start

Author: AnitaB

Author's notes: I own nothing from Elementary. No money is made and no infringement intended.

This is set some time in the not too distant future. But some things change for both Joan and Sherlock between then and now. If you asked them, they would say that the changes have been all for the better. Unless you ask Joan before she's had her morning caffeine. Romantic committed smut ahead (probably).

Kick Start

By AnitaB

Chapter one: Morning pick me up

Years had passed, several of them. And he sometimes still drove her so crazy that she seriously contemplated murder. Detective Bell would give her his gun if she asked him for it in the right moment. Or frankly, there were enough lethal things in the brownstone due to Sherlock's many bizarre experiments.

And if he didn't fix this right the hell now, Joan Watson-Holmes was about to kill her husband and gall his soul by actually committing the perfect murder. Something even he wouldn't be able to solve if he weren't the victim and therefore not doing the investigating.

"Sherlock!"

Damn the man. Damn his eyes and his hands and the stubbled line of his jaw. But right now especially, damn his twisty and fascinating mind. "Sherlock! Get the hell in here!"

Not even the lean lines of his bare chest lowered the temperature of her blood when he appeared in the doorway. Not that exposed skin on his part usually cooled her off. "You called..."

"Where is it, Sherlock?"

His innocent face today was even worse than last time. You'd think by now he'd be better at lying to her since he insisted on doing it so often. "Is something missing from our kitchen? Should I call Gregson about a break-in?"

"Yes, something is missing from our kitchen. No, you shouldn't call Gregson unless you mean to confess." Joan gestured at the cabinet behind her with a flick of her fingers. "You stole my coffee and hid it... Again."

"Would I do such a thing?" Sherlock pushed away from the door jamb and walked toward her across the kitchen floor. He was trying to distract her by sliding those long, agile fingers back and forth across the top edge of his pajama pants. It was getting hard to maintain the glare when her eyes kept getting drawn down to watch those fingertips move against his skin. "Why would I ever want you angry at me?"

He'd gotten close enough, almost too close. Joan tucked her disobedient fingers against her ribs to keep them off the chest just a few inches from her own. "I don't know why you want me angry. But you must do it on purpose. You know what it does to me when you hide my coffee. I'm not playing hide and seek with my morning caffeine. Not again."

"You should have tea instead." The battle of wills ended when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her those few inches closer to tuck the curve of her stomach against the front of his body. "Coffee isn't good for my baby."

"Your baby?" Joan bit her lip and let her hands give in to the call of his skin, sliding all ten fingers up the muscles of his arms to cling to his shoulders. Her voice cracked just a little when his hands rubbed exactly where her back was aching just a little, not missing the spot by even an inch. "Not our baby? Isn't that a little illogical? I mean... really..."

"Well, of course, she's yours too." Long fingers stroked over her stomach, stopping when a tiny foot thumped into his palm. His eyes locked on the back of his own hand for several kicks, his face oddly still. But she'd had years to learn to read him. That was the look of emotions so large he was almost afraid of how strong they were. "Our baby. Yours and mine, together."

She could never resist that sound in his voice, that heat in his eyes, in his hands. "Sherlock," He met her halfway, his lips catching the end of his name as they met hers. Nothing was better than Sherlock's kiss, than his arms around her. And yet somehow he made it better, every single time. Ever since the first kiss, it was like she was the addict and he was the drug.

And the damn man knew exactly how to trigger a relapse. The tiniest little twist of his tongue had her making helpless, embarassingly needy little sounds in the back of her throat. The simplest heat of long fingers against her body made her every muscle press closer in a mindless request for more.

And he seemed more than willing to give it to her. Strong hands pulled her tight against the lean strength of his chest until the need for air forced their lips apart. Sherlock rested his forehead against hers and whispered words she almost couldn't hear against her lips. "I can give you a different kind of kick to start the day. Something with no caffeine, no side effects." He brushed a kiss over her lips, sliding one hand down the curve of her stomach to press those long fingers low on her hips. "Clitoral orgasms have been shown in studies to energize a woman more than coffee with no crash later."

It took a moment for her brain to process anything beyond the warmth of his lips so distractingly close to her own. And then she lost all ability to think at all. Joan knew exactly what Sherlock was offering and every single nerve in her body thrummed with the desire to say yes. The things that he could do to her with that mouth between her legs...

"Sherlock," His fingers thrummed against her skin in time with her helpless sound of his name on her lips, inching just a little lower with each moaned syllable.

No his hands didn't drop at all. Her body had lifted, rising up on her toes to invite those fingers lower and get herself closer to those tempting lips. "That wasn't a clear yes or no, love." He gave her a quick taste of a kiss before pulling back enough to give her a even quicker smile. "You know how angry you get with me when I just read you rather than ask you things." One of his hands was moving now, sliding down the outside of her hip to help her knee slide up the outside of his leg. Ever so slowly. "So you have to tell me what you want or I'm going to make you angry again."

It was really, really hard to maintain a scowl when agile, skilled fingers were climbing the back of her thigh and those lips were whispering maddeningly close to her own. /What the hell...\\\ "Yes, Sherlock, yes."

"Hold on to me, Joan, tight." Sherlock finally gave her a real kiss as he swept her up into his arms. Her grip tightened when he started taking the stairs two at a time on the way to their bedroom.

So much for her morning coffee.

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	2. Breathless

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Kick Start

By AnitaB

Chapter two: Breathless

She probably wouldn't understand it if he said the words trying so desperately to make their way off his tongue. Every single time Sherlock expressed the sheer wealth of gratitude he felt, Joan simply got confused. This precious woman didn't get the magnitude of what she'd done to him and for him since the moment they met. His wife, his beautiful, amazing, pregnant wife had no idea why he treasured her above his own soul.

But just maybe he could show her how much she mattered to him as soon as he got her back into their bed. But first she had to tell him yes and he was going to do whatever it took to help her find the words. Sherlock stopped restraining his hands, enjoying the smooth, soft heat of her thigh under his fingertips. "So you have to tell me what you want or I'm going to make you angry again."

/Come on, love. Tell me to touch you.\\\ He knew she was going to say yes by the heat quickly overwhelming the scowl on her lips. The trembling grip of her hands on the back of his neck was a definite sign. But Sherlock wasn't giving her the kiss she clearly wanted very, very badly until she answered him. " Yes, Sherlock, yes."

That was all he needed. "Hold on to me, Joan, tight." Oh, and a real kiss. But Sherlock always needed more of Joan's kisses. And Joan herself, closer, much, much closer. He delighted in the curve of her stomach resting against his skin, in the grip of her arms and legs around his body. And he deliberately lost himself in the sweet stroke of her tongue and the smooth heat of her lips. /That's my girl, hold me tighter.\\\

Weakly breaking the kiss, Sherlock tucked his wife tight against his ribs and took the stairs faster than was probably safe. Not than anything in this world or any other would ever succeed in making him drop her. One tiny hand left the back of his neck as his feet stopped before their bedroom door, making his hands tighten against her skin. /That's my precious girl, need me, want me, want this enough.\\\ The return of her fingers to his skin came with his name on her lips and the angling of her head in invitation. Joan wanted a kiss. And now that the stairs weren't trying to inhibit their balance... he would be delighted to comply.

"Sherlock," He lost himself in the warmth of her lips, blindly crossing the distance to their bed while her tongue dragged a helpless sound from him. His knees found the edge of the mattress, forcing his grip to shift when he moved to lay her down on their sheets.

"I've got you, Joan, just lay back and I'll give you everything you need." He tried to catch his breath before joining her in the bed. But that endeavor was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. /So beautiful, my darling Joan, you are unbelievably gorgeous.\\\ His pajama top was never more attractive than when it was draping along her curves. His boxers were never more touchable than when she claimed them for sleep shorts. But nothing, not a single thing in the entirety of the universe was more beautiful than the look on her face when she reached out a hand toward him. It no longer mattered if he could breathe. Sherlock needed to answer the request in her extended fingers, the need in her face, the call of her body stretched out on their sheets. "That's my good girl, just like that."

Sherlock claimed that hand, let it lead him onto the mattress and into her arms. He let those beautiful hands lead him into a kiss because he would never, ever get enough of her kisses. Shifting between her ankles, he pulled back to give her a smile at the sound on her lips. "Sherlock…"

"Right here, love. I've got you." Sherlock braced his arms on either side of her ribs to keep his weight up and leaned down for a taste of her kiss. He got a little distracted from the plan at the slide of her fingers along the back of his neck and the rub of the inside of her knee against his ribs. /Mind on the task at hand, man.\\\ It was another taste of this amazing woman that he needed at the moment. But, as always, it was nearly impossible to pull away from her kiss. Since that first one so long ago, Sherlock was addicted to Joan's kiss more than he had ever been to heroine. And this addiction he had no intention to break. Not ever. He'd kiss her all she'd let him, as soon as he'd given her what he'd promised. Sherlock weakly broke the kiss to drag his lips along the arch of her neck.

"Sherlock, please…" He merely shook his head against the grip of her fingers and kissed his way down the simply gorgeous lines and curves of her body. First over the shirt, then pushing the fabric out of his way at her waist. Time for a short pause. Sherlock simply wasn't strong enough to pass by the curve of their child cradled inside her. He always had to stop and stare, stroke and caress, kiss and whisper. Tiny fingers stroked through his hair at the same moment that every inch of her gorgeous body arched and rocked under his. /Yes, back to work.\\\

"Lift up for me, love." He got a grip on the waistband of his boxers and her panties, slowly peeling both down the lines of her thighs and calves for the sound on her lips and the smooth, soft heat of her skin against his palms. "That's my girl. I've got you." She was so beautiful she took his breath away. But the way she felt under his hands, the way she tasted. Sherlock cupped those hips in his hands and angled her body under his. "Remember to breathe."

The first stroke of his tongue over her most sensitive nerves had the love of his life gasping his name and fisting their sheets in her fingers. The second and third strokes had her thighs trembling against his ears. The fourth and fifth had her hips rocking to the rhythm he'd set. Before number six, Sherlock had to let go of her hip with one hand to twine those grasping fingers with his own instead of the sheet. More, he needed to feel how much more to give her, because he wanted to give her everything. /Show me, love.\\\

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